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was more restless, and having put away the things used in preparing the meal he began an inspection of the neighborhood.

      "Be careful," said old Benson, as the youth moved around. "Don't get into trouble, as Joe did."

      "I'll keep my eyes open," replied Darry.

      Opposite the trail was a tall spur of rocks with something of a series of natural steps leading to the top. Up these steps went the youth. Some of the climbing was difficult, but this he did not mind.

      When the top was gained a magnificent panorama was spread out before him. To one side were the tall mountains, hidden in a bluish mist, to the other the vast forests and plains. Northward was the continuation of the gap they were traveling, and southward was a series of foothills, with here and there a stream or waterfall glinting brightly in the sunshine.

      "How grand!" he murmured. "What a vast country this is! Thousands upon thousands of people could live here, and nobody be crowded. This would make splendid pasture for cows and sheep, and yet there isn't a single animal in sight."

      Beyond the rocky spur was a similar elevation, and presently Darry crossed to this. Here there was a lone pine with several low branches, and he drew himself up and climbed to the top. He could now see much further than formerly, and his view took in a portion of the trail passed several hours before, as it wound, serpent-like, between the foothills.

      "Hullo!" he cried, as he caught sight of something moving on the trail. "Three people on horseback. Can they be the desperadoes Joe met?"

      He watched the riders with interest, and at last felt certain they were three men fully armed and wearing slouch hats and light-colored coats. This description tallied with that given by his cousin, and he hastened down to acquaint old Benson with the news.

      "Must be the gang," said the scout. "Are they moving this way?"

      "Yes."

      "Then we had better move on."

      Joe was awakened, and leaped to his feet, looking rather bewildered.

      "I – I thought I'd take a little nap," he stammered. "I suppose I've slept a good while, haven't I?"

      "About an hour and a half," answered his cousin. "Here's your dinner," and he passed it over. "We've got to move on. Those rascals are behind us."

      "Behind us!"

      "Don't get scared," put in old Benson. "They are a good distance back. Darry discovered 'em from yonder p'int. Eat what you want, and then it will be time enough to start."

      The repast was quickly disposed of by Joe, and soon they were in the saddle once more. The long nap had refreshed the lad greatly, and he said he would now be able to ride as far as anybody.

      On they went, the trail growing more difficult as the top of the mountain was gained. Here there was a stiff breeze that at times was positively cold, and both boys were glad enough to button their jackets tightly around them.

      If all went well Benson calculated that they could reach Hank Leeson's place with ease before dark. This was the cabin of an old hunter and trapper who was known from one end of the Territory to the other. As mentioned at the beginning of this tale, Leeson's place was twenty miles from the fort.

      "I could ride right through," said the old scout. "But you boys couldn't do it. If you tried it, you'd be so sore and stiff the next day you couldn't stand up."

      CHAPTER VII

      AT HANK LEESON'S CABIN

      At first the boys were inclined to think that the old scout was mistaken – that they could ride as far as anybody. But when, shortly after sunset, they came within sight of Hank Leeson's place both were glad to think that they would have to ride no more for the present.

      "I'm sore already," whispered Darry to his cousin.

      "So am I – but I didn't want Benson to know it," was the low answer. "That last mile of the trail was awfully rough."

      Hank Leeson had seen them coming, and stood at the doorway of his cabin, rifle in hand. He was a tall, thin man, with black eyes that were exceedingly sharp and shrewd. When he recognized Sam Benson he dropped his firearm into a corner and ran to meet the scout.

      "Downright glad ter see ye!" he said, shaking hands. "Sam, yer a sight fer sore eyes, thet's wot!"

      "And I'm glad to see you, Hank," responded Benson, just as warmly. "How have things been with you?"

      "Putty slow, to tell the truth." Leeson looked at the boys. "Two tenderfoots along, I see."

      "Yes. This is Joe Moore, brother to the captain up at the fort, and this is Darry Germain, his cousin. Boys, this is Hank Leeson, the best trapper and all-around shot in these parts."

      "Oh, come, don't be a-praisin' me so much!" cried Leeson, as he took the boys' hands in a grip that made them wince. "As fer shootin', ye kin do thet yerself as good as anybody, Sam." He looked the boys over. "Glad to know ye, lads. I know Captain Moore downright well, and he's a good soldier."

      "I've got news, Hank," put in the old scout. "Joe fell in with Matt Gilroy's gang down near Buckwater Run."

      "What!" roared the old trapper. "Do you mean to tell me thet measly crowd is around here ag'in?"

      "Three of 'em are – Gilroy, Fetter, and a young fellow named Potts. I think Potts comes from Denver."

      "I know him. His father was Ike Potts, the card-sharp. Thet blood is about as bad as any in the gang. What are they up to?"

      "They are laying a trap for the quartermaster when he comes through with the soldiers' money. Joe heard part of their talk by accident. Do you know when the quartermaster is expected?"

      "I do not. Ye see, ever since old Cap'n Bissile was held up the army officers keep mum about the movements of the cash-box. I reckon they have orders from Washington to do it."

      "I want to warn Colonel Fairfield as soon as I can," went on the old scout.

      "Yes, he ought to be warned."

      "Can you lend me a fresh hoss?"

      "I can."

      "Then I'll be off as soon as I've had a bit of supper. The boys can stay with you all night, can't they?"

      "They can, an' welcome," replied Hank Leeson.

      "You are going to leave us?" queried Joe.

      "Don't see any other way to do, lad. The sooner I get the news to the fort the better. I'll come back in the morning after you – or send your brother or somebody else."

      "We can ride it alone, can't we?" questioned Darry.

      "I wouldn't try it, if I were you. The trail is a rough one, and there are several forks where you might go astray."

      "Better stay with me, lads," put in Leeson. "I'll treat ye well, never fear," and he smiled broadly.

      "Thank you," returned Joe. "I was only thinking I'd like to see my brother soon, that's all."

      "A few hours more or less won't make much difference," said Darry. He had looked around the trapper's cabin, and was interested. "Let us wait." And so it was arranged.

      It did not take long to get a bit of supper, and in less than half an hour Sam Benson was off, astride of a powerful steed which had been Hank Leeson's pride for years.

      "Jest tell him to go to the fort," said Leeson, "and he'll carry ye thar with his eyes shet," and he gave a parting salute to the old scout.

      The cabin was a primitive affair of rough logs, with the chinks filled with dried clay. It contained two rooms, each about twelve feet square. Back of the cabin was a lean-to where Leeson kept his horses, two in number. There was room for more animals, so the beasts ridden by our friends were easily accommodated.

      Night had fallen by the time the horses had been rubbed down and fed and the boys had finished their evening repast, and it was dark when they gathered around the doorstep to rest. Hank Leeson sat on a chopping-block, cleaning his rifle and smoking at the same time, and as the three rested Joe told of his adventure in the cave,

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